


Extremes

by dreamsofspike



Category: House M.D., MD - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-28
Updated: 2010-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An innocent, accidental set of circumstances leads to an unexpected flashback to the painful events of House's past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extremes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taricalmcacil](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=taricalmcacil).



> Warnings: reference to past violence, child abuse

All or nothing… silence or rage… fire and ice.

House had become a man of extremes.

It was the one thing he hated to admit that he’d actually inherited from the man he’d called father for most of his life.

When the pressure began to get to be too much, and he found the façade a little heavy to carry, he would withdraw into silence, shutting out the world around him. Wilson knew him better than anyone, and knew when House just wanted to be left alone – and usually, he went with it. House knew that if he really needed to talk, Wilson would be there – and usually, just that knowing was enough.

When House lost the patient he’d been struggling to save for two weeks – there were no words that would have helped.

House went home a few minutes early, locking himself into the bathroom and turning the shower on as hot as he could stand it. He focused on the searing, pleasurably painful sting of the water against his skin, closing his eyes and trying to allow the stress and frustration and helplessness to wash away with the water.

_Never could get it right… nothing but a disappointment…_

He tried to shut out the troubled accusations that filled his mind, spoken in a familiar voice he’d always done his best to ignore, but it was no use. Today, those words felt especially true.

_Just had to break the rules again, didn’t you? You always do – and look what it cost you. Look what it cost _them_. They trusted you, and you failed them because you couldn’t just do what you were supposed to. No, you had to go with the least likely theory and treat her for something she didn’t have… you always have to fight and argue and question until in the end… you lost, just like you always do.  And _they _lost, because of you._

_Failure._

_Useless, pathetic failure._

_***************************************_

Wilson had come home early, though House hadn’t heard him, hadn’t been aware of anything except his own preoccupation with his failure. Wilson didn’t hear the shower running, and went about his business in the kitchen, washing the dishes and getting ready to make dinner. A moment later, his plans were forgotten with the sound of a panicked, anguished cry from the bathroom. He rushed to the door, calling out with trembling urgency.

“House? House, are you all right? What is it?”

But the only response he received was more panicked, choking cries.

He tried the handle on the bathroom door, only to find that it was locked.

That was when he _really_ began to worry.

***********************************************

As the steaming water pouring down over his body suddenly went icy cold, the shock of the sensation jolted House back in time, to a dark, terrifying memory. Suddenly, he was no longer in his shower, in his own apartment, but in another house hundreds of miles away, and decades earlier in time.

_Stupid, rebellious little brat! I’ll teach you to talk back to me! I’ll teach you to argue with _me_!_

“No,” House whispered, scrambling blindly to get out from under the icy spray – and only succeeding in slipping on the slick surface of the shower floor. His right shin slammed hard into the side of the tub, and he collapsed onto his knees, hard, as his entire leg exploded in agony. “No,” he mumbled under his breath, his eyes closed, gasping for breath, as the darkness of his memories closed in on him, carrying him away from rationality and reason. “No… no… _please_…”

****************************************

Wilson later would say that it was sheer desperation that gave him the strength to break through the locked bathroom door. He heard the loud thud from the other side of the door, followed by House’s pleading, despairing cries – and suddenly all he could think about was getting to him.

And somehow… he did.

House was huddled against the side of the tub, his knees drawn up in front of him, sobbing brokenly and begging under his breath – soft, pleading words that Wilson couldn’t quite understand, though his tone made the meaning more than clear. A dark purple bruise was already beginning to form under the pale skin of House’s right shin.

“House… House, come here…” Wilson murmured, turning off the water quickly and climbing into the tub beside House, heedless of the soapy water that quickly soaked through the knees of his dress slacks. “House… what is it? What happened? Talk to me?”

House flinched away from him, arms raised in front of him, trembling and defensive. “I’m sorry… please… I’m sorry…”

Wilson was horrified.

“House… it’s just me. I’m not going to hurt you, House, you’re okay… you’re safe…” Wilson softly insisted, settling in beside House and extending a cautious hand to rest on his knee. “Listen to me… you’re safe. You… fell, but… everything is okay now. You’re fine. You’re okay…”

House didn’t seem to be hearing him at first, but as Wilson kept on talking – not knowing what else to do – he gradually seemed to calm down, his trembling subsiding with his whimpered, pleading words. Finally, he looked up at Wilson, and actually seemed to _see_ him again – and with the return of reason came a flood of shame. House’s face flushed with embarrassment, and as quickly as he’d seen Wilson, he couldn’t bring himself to look at him.

“Hey… it’s okay,” Wilson insisted. “You just… had a little freak out, that’s all. It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not,” House muttered, rolling his eyes at himself as he looked away. “I’m a moron…”

“No, it’s okay,” Wilson repeated. “It doesn’t matter, House.” He was quiet for a moment, hesitating before adding softly, “You know… showing a little weakness isn’t anything to be ashamed of. If there’s anyone you can feel free to show it to…”

“There isn’t,” House muttered.

Wilson paused a moment before continuing, almost as if House hadn’t spoken, his words slow and measured. “… then… I would think… that person would be me.”

The uncertainty and vulnerability in Wilson’s voice drew House’s focus, and he finally ventured to meet Wilson’s eyes again.

“I love you, House,” Wilson confessed softly. “Flaws and all. I mean, come on,” he laughed gently. “If I was looking for perfection… I’d still be looking. I’m not gonna find it… and I don’t _want_ it. I want _you_. And…” He hesitated a moment before adding in a quiet, vulnerable tone, “… I want you… to _trust_ me. To… let me be here for you… when you’re going through…”

“Wilson?”

Wilson’s words broke off, and he looked up to meet House’s red-rimmed eyes. “Yes?”

“Shut up,” House muttered wearily – but any sting was taken from the words by the fact that as he spoke them, he leaned forward to rest his head against the cool, wet fabric of Wilson’s shirt, now soaked from the tub and House’s previous struggles.

Wilson’s chest clenched with a strangely satisfying ache, as House reached out a shaky, uncertain hand to rest at his side, nestling in closer and accepting the physical comfort that he ordinarily would have refused.

And for the moment, for Wilson, that was more than enough.


End file.
